Falling awake

I'm still in denial.

Exactly over what, I'm still not sure. So much has happened so quickly that I'm don't know how to make heads or tails out of any of it. All I know is that denial isn't just a river in Egypt, and regrets? Well, I've got plenty. Three bags full.

I miss my grandpa so much. People say that it gets better with time, but some days I can't believe that'll ever be true. It's been more than a month now since the actual funeral, but the pain still feels just as fresh. I can still conjure up the image of him in his coffin, and every time I think of it, I wish I had been strong enough to kiss him goodbye and tell him one last time how much I loved him, instead of merely placing that orchid on his lifeless sleeve.

And every so often, I get this terrible sinking feeling that I could have done something. Should have done something. Maybe even just have said something. To the doctors. To him.

I want to say that in a couple months time I'll be able to write this fabulous post about him so you can understand just why he was such a monumental figure in my life, but I - I just don't know if I'll ever be able to do him justice.

I know I need to get back out there. I can't keep sitting at home, studying to pass away the time, with my only retreat being time with the boyfriend. Even though that's what comfortable. I mean, nothing really dulls the pain as well as relearning about cell receptors and neurotransmitters and all the infinite detailed tedious specifics about this or that disease. For all my complaining about studying and how much I hate it, I've come to realize that that is the only thing I truly have any control over. And how terrible is that?

It's summer, but I'm not taking advantage of it at all. It's bright and sunny outdoors, but I rather prefer to stay at home to mindlessly pass away the days watching television and reading CNN.com. After all, as long as I know what's going on in the world, who's to judge whether or not I'm actually a part of it?

I need to get back out there. I know that. I need to soak up some vitamin D and regain some of that happy energy I used to have. But it's ridiculous how much effort it takes me to drudge up the energy to go to the grocery store a mere block away. I'd much rather eat expired yogurt and goodness-knows-what from the depths of my refrigerator.

All I know is that I've been hiding. Homemade dinners with the boyfriend. Clean dishes and fresh laundry. I'm stuck in a pattern. The sun rises, the sun sets, and I get to watch fireworks on Wednesdays.

The familiarity is nice, and if I'm honest, I'll admit that I'm far too scared to break away from it. Because this is mindless and numbing. And it's easier this way.

Oh the weather outside

So awesome.

Baby I'm yours

Thanks to that pesky little thing called med school loans, we might not have a lot of money, honey...

But you sure do know how to make a girl smile when she's walking in her front door after a long flight back to you.

Make me over

Tomorrow the class of 2010 starts their third year of med school. And they're excited. A little apprehensive maybe, but excited. Because third year means seeing real people, being in the hospital. Being a third year means they're that much closer to the endgame. It's so close they can taste it.

Tomorrow the rest of my classmates will start their third year. Tomorrow, I will sleep in and then clean my house. Morosely. Because tomorrow, I will be beyond depressed that I'm not in their shoes.

Instead, I'm stuck. Stuck where I have been for the past year. Stuck in the libraries. Stuck away from doing what I've been waiting and wanting to do my whole life - take care of people.

This year will be different. Different people. Different friendships. Slightly different coursework.

I wouldn't change what happened and what I ultimately chose, because I needed this time. And I grew so much during this time. But that doesn't mean I can't wish a little for what coulda woulda shoulda.

So tomorrow I'll be a little sad. No, tomorrow I'll be a lottle sad.

And then the day after that, I'll pick my chin up and carry on.

P.S. I love you

I can only imagine what today means to my mother.

And then I wish I could be in two places at once.

Happy father's day. Wa aie lee, ah-ghon. I miss you.

The sweet escape

I think I've told you a couple of times how much I love Sex and the City. How I identified with all the girls, but mainly Charlotte and her fairy tales. So yesterday, I was browsing the web and came across this quiz. And so, in my infinite boredom, I took it, curious to see if my Charlotte York-ness would come shining through. (Though the end result declared me a Carrie, I feel like maybe it's all a promotional tool to get me to go see the movie, since the PR machine knows that everyone wants to be the protagonist.)

All the answers were pretty easy to answer. For example, question one read: if you were walking past a pair of Manolo Blahnik's would you...
(a) go in immediately and buy a pair even though you can't possibly afford rent in New York, much less $1000 shoes, on a columnist's salary, (b) stare past the shoes and coo at the cute baby indoors because even though you could be a widely successful art gallery owner, you'd much rather play Mummy, (c) go in and start having sex with the cute salesman with the shoes on, of course, (d) admire them for a minute, then walk away wondering how they can justify those prices.

Clearly, I choose C.

Right.

Anyways, so these questions were all pretty straight-forward, and I started to realize that I was far more of a practical Miranda than a fanciful Charlotte, when I hit this question and could not, for the life of me, pick between A and D.

Today, I met my best friend J for lunch. We headed towards the bus stop, catching up and laughing the whole way. Then, during one of J's long speeches about nothing, I glanced up and saw a blast from the past walking down the street. Towards us. He looked up at us, and then down at his phone, and then back at us and the surrounding street-walkers. There was no change in his facial expression. No clue that he was secretly freaking out about meeting face to face for the first time since our last week of undergrad.

I was horrified.

I looked like a mess. I hadn't had time to shower, and I was wearing a skirt that had a peanut butter stain on it. My hair hadn't been properly brushed for weeks, and pimples were waging war on my T-zone area (and winning by a landslide). And the Boy was in the library, instead of out there with me, where I could properly show him off.

And I couldn't believe there was no sign of recognition on his face as he glanced over us. Med school might have sucked the soul right out of me, but my facial features are still the same.

J kept talking, oblivious to my freak-out session. We started getting ever nearer, and just as we were about 50 yards from crossing paths, I grabbed J's arm, and ran away.

Yup. No explanation. No quick hi or hand wave. Just a tugging at my best friend's arm, and a quick getaway, eyes averted.

Maybe I am a Carrie after all.

The best part of all this? J kept on talking the whole time, completely in the dark as to what was causing all my strange behavior. "You're always like that," he replied when I asked, before segueing effortlessly back into the twisted plot lines of One Tree Hill.

Into the well

I know girls get a bad rep for always yelling at boys to "put the toilet seat down," but really, it's for good reason.*

One. Sorry boys, but not all of you have the greatest of aim, and well, we'd really rather not have to touch the seat when goodness knows what's been oozing down it. And let's face it, you guys are far less cringe-tastic when it comes to germs. And having to touch them.

Two. It really is true - sometimes we just don't look before we sit down. When it's 3am in the morning, and you're bleary-eyed and just need to pee like there's no tomorrow, you're going to go in, peel off your underwear and just sit. I, being Asian, am blessed with a small butt.** Which means, my entire butt will fall into the toilet bowl if the seat is not down. Yes. This has indeed happened before.

In all honesty, when not in use, I'd rather have the lid down too. Because my toothbrush is in there (the room, not the toilet), and my loofah, and bath towels, and my hairbrush. The thought of pee and poop particles meshing with things that are supposed to make me clean... gross. And this is off-topic, but I think my demands are minuscule compared to my sister's. She makes her boyfriends SIT while peeing. True story.

BUT (and it's a big non-Asian-sized one), I actually quite enjoy walking into a public bathroom and seeing the toilet seat up. Because it can mean only one of two things. Either a boy was in the wrong bathroom (doubtful), or the cleaning people just came through and performed magic (read: thoroughly scrubbed down both the toilet bowl and the toilet seat).

When Michelle doesn't have to squat, Michelle is happy. Little things in life, people.

Also, it makes for a really satisfying bathroom run.***


Some notes on this post:
* If the Boy is reading this - no, this is not my passive-aggressive way of trying to tell you to put the seat/lid down, because I know you already do. Every time. It really is quite remarkable how good you are about it. And I thank you. My little Asian butt thanks you.

**To my bigger-bottomed girls out there - this is not meant as an insult, because I would kill to be like T-pain's Apple Bottom Jeans girl and hit the flo', because like Sir Mix-a-lot, I too like big butts.

*** I mean "bathroom run" as in going to the bathroom, much like how one would say "an ice cream run" when embarking on a trip to Cold Stone's to get ice cream. I am NOT referring to a case of the runs, because dude. That is more so gross and disgusting, and decisively not satisfying in the least. Although in retrospect, if one does have a case of the runs, I suppose it would be far better not having to squat.

****I'm sure you're wondering why I'm posting about all this, but no worries. One day, maybe I will tell you.